“Now that Marcus is gone, the tunnel has widened.” He made himself at home, opened the cabinets, fished out two wineglasses, and set them on the counter.
“You know why you’ve never had a long-term girlfriend?” She leaned on the counter and fiddled with his keys. He still used the little ski keychain she’d given him about a hundred years ago. For the first time in weeks, she felt like she was back on solid ground.
“Because I never wanted one?” He arched a brow.
“No. Because you won’t get rid of those stupid slippers, and you drink water from wineglasses. Real women like to be wined and dined.”
“Maybe real women do, but best friends don’t need me to pretend. Besides, if I were tied up with some needy woman, I wouldn’t be able to come over and watch you wallow in your Marcus-less life. I figured you needed a little rehab.”
Worried he was talking about her shoulder, she said hopefully, “Movie rehab?”
“What have you always told me?” He shrugged off his coat and hung it on the back of a chair.
“That your ego is too big?” She flipped through the DVDs and held up one of them. “Eyes Wide Shut? Really?” She rolled her eyes.
“I packed a bunch of movies since this was supposed to be our week to hang out. Thanks for getting rid of you know who.”
“Don’t even bring up that ass.”
He shrugged. “Fine by me. I didn’t know what mood you’d be in, so I made sure to bring your favorite and your most hated movie. And…” He put the popcorn in the microwave, then pulled two enormous bags of gummy bears from his coat pocket.
Jayla reached for the candy. “You really are the best.” And I’ve been such a bitch and avoiding you. How could I ever avoid you? Why did I? Ugh. I’m such an idiot. I can’t even think straight.
Rush held the bag out of reach. “You women are all alike. You only want me for my candy.”
You couldn’t be farther from the truth. “I have a feeling the candy I want you for and the candy your ski hos wants you for are very different.” She moved in close and placed her thumb to the ticklish spot just inside his jeans pocket—the one that she’d learned about when they were kids and he’d tackled her in a tickle fight—then she squeezed.
“Hey.” His arm came down and she snagged the bag.
And just like that they’d fallen back into their comfort zone. That was one of the things Jayla loved most about their friendship—it was never more than a breath away. She suppressed the butterflies in her stomach and smoothed the kink in her crush-lust armor, settling it right back into place.
“Works every time.” Jayla glanced in the living room and realized she’d left the red rubber therapy band she used for her shoulder exercises on the doorknob to the bedroom. With the bag of candy in her fist, she grabbed the band, tossed it onto the bed, and closed the door.
Rush opened two bottles of Vitamin Water and poured them into the wineglasses. “What do you always say to me at the beginning of training season?”
“Please keep it to yourself.” She grabbed a glass and stuck Spaceballs into the DVD player.
“What? It’s great advice. There’ll always be another one right around the corner.”
He held her gaze and her heart squeezed. She’d completely misread him. He must not have been feeling anything more for her if he was suggesting that she date other guys. She flopped on the couch and tried to act like her hope hadn’t deflated.
“That’s great advice for a guy who thinks sex is like fine wine and he should taste as much as he can. It’s not good advice for a girl who has just sworn off men forever.”
Rush slipped his feet into his fuzzy, quilted slippers, which made him look like he was wearing two rabbits on his big feet. He carried the popcorn over and sat beside her. Rush put his arm around Jayla, and she tucked her feet up beneath her.
“Forever, huh?”
She cuddled in beside him as she’d done so many times before. Natural. Easy. Comfortable. Her pulse sped up a little despite the armor she’d slipped back into, and she took a deep breath. Friends. We’re friends. That’s good enough. It has to be.
“Maybe.”
“I hear if you don’t use certain body parts, they fall off.” He tickled her ribs with the tease.
She laced her fingers with his as the movie started. She’d missed their friendship these last few weeks. She’d missed them. She’d missed him. “That’s only for guys. Besides, who says I won’t use them? I’m just swearing off men.”
“They say batteries are a girl’s best friend.”
“I’m beginning to think that whoever they are, they just might be right.”
Rush pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and tucked it around her legs. “You might be right. We can be assholes.”
“Yeah, you can. But you did bring my favorite movie, and you get a free asshole pass for that.”
He held his phone up in front of them. “Smile.”
“Rush…” She covered her face. They had taken hundreds of random photos over the years, and in most of them Jayla was in some sort of disarray and Rush was beaming like a fool. He’d initiated the idea of an album, and he’d carried the idea forward throughout the years more than she had. She wondered now, as she was pressed against his body, if the album could possibly mean as much to him as it did to her—despite her discomfort of being the focus of photographs.
“Come on. Good times, bad times, you know how this goes, and you know I’ll take it anyway. We’ll add it to our album. Please?”
She stuck out her tongue and he clicked the picture.
As she soaked up the comfort of his friendship, she knew she had been right all those years to keep her feelings for him silent. She couldn’t risk their friendship by trying to be something more with the one person who not only understood her as a person, but really got her passion for skiing, her drive and determination, the one person who helped her push herself to be more than she ever knew she could. She trusted Rush in a way that she didn’t even trust her family, who she knew loved her and who supported her on a different level. They were there for her like a safety net. They’d catch her when she fell. Whereas Rush would never wait until she fell. He would become her legs, her strength, her skis, the very legs she stood upon. He’d hold her, breathe for her, find her balance for her, and when she made it down the mountain safely, he’d haul her right back up to the top of the mountain and push her to do it again—all by herself.
Because he knew she could.
Even if she didn’t have to.
Chapter Six
RUSH WOKE UP at four in the morning after he and Jayla had watched Spaceballs, Star Wars, and finally Tomb Raider, because Rush knew that Jayla would rather die than watch a sappy movie where the female lead was too weak to take care of herself. He straightened up the living room and went to the bedroom to grab a heavier blanket for her. Even though she’d been there only a few hours, the bedroom was already Jaylaized. Three pairs of ski pants hung over the closet door, two pairs of boots and a pair of sneakers lay on the closet floor, and a picture of her family was displayed proudly on the dresser.
He picked up the photograph and smiled. She came from a large family, just like he did, and he’d met them many times. Her younger brother Jared looked up to her, and her older siblings looked out for her. Sort of. They weren’t as close as Rush’s family, getting together as often or trying to make it to most events as a group, but they loved one another, and if Jayla ever really needed them, they’d step up to the plate. But Jayla was too independent to need that kind of support, so Jace, Mia, and Jennifer lived their busy lives and kept in touch through emails, occasional phone calls, and holiday gatherings. Occasionally, one or two of them would make it to one of her competitions, and Rush had always felt a twinge of sadness for Jayla when his entire family would show up to support him. She never seemed to mind. His family had known her for so long that they treated her like she was one of them.
Rush glanced at the photo aga
in, remembering a few times when Jayla had mentioned Jace being overprotective, but that seemed to ease after she was out of high school. His eyes lingered on Jen. Jen was a lot like the person Rush used to be. She liked men, and she liked sex. Rush had never seen anything wrong with that, but now the idea of Jen having any influence on Jayla took on a whole new feel, and he had to work hard at pushing the jealousy away.
He set the frame back on the dresser and moved toward the bed, hoping that he was mistaken about what he saw. He picked up the long rubber therapy band and gritted his teeth. “Damn it, Jayla.” He set it on the nightstand and grabbed the blanket from the bed.
Forty minutes later, he sat on the edge of the bed in his own cabin with his head in his hands. He’d showered and changed, had a protein shake, and couldn’t stop thinking about the Thera-Band. He’d seen Jayla flinch when she’d lifted that damn bag. He’d hoped he was wrong and that the coach had been more worried about her focus than an injury, but the band could mean only one thing—that the injury was bad enough for her to need to hide it. He headed up to the gym in the resort with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t make him feel any better that when he’d tested the waters by mentioning other guys were waiting around the corner, she gave no indication of the interest in him he thought he’d picked up on earlier.
He and Jayla, like most professional athletes, lived with the fear of incurring an injury bad enough to end their career. Snow was their blood, and competing was their oxygen. How many times had they played out the what-ifs together? What if you could never ski again? What if you could never compete again? What happened to ex-athletes?
The gym was empty, which was a good thing, because Rush wasn’t in the mood to talk. After stretching, he worked his biceps, pumping the heaviest weights he could, fighting against Jayla’s answers to their what-ifs. He didn’t want to let them in, and he was powerless to stop them. It wouldn’t matter. I’d die from withdrawals. He knew it went deeper than the innate need to ski. Washed-up skiers didn’t get big advertising contracts like other ex-professional athletes did. At least he had a degree he could fall back on, though he couldn’t even imagine ever needing to. Jayla hadn’t gone to college. She worked two jobs in the summers and poured all of her money into her skiing career, hiring the right coaches, buying the right gear, training at the best camps. Her parents supported her efforts, but they didn’t have the financial means to fund her or her siblings’ educations. He knew Jayla was good with finances, and she probably saved almost every penny her sponsors had paid. He also knew that when skiing was all a person had ever wanted to do, going without could feel like a catastrophic free fall. If that happened to Jayla, he’d make damn sure that he was there to catch her.
He moved to the leg press and loaded up the weights, competing against the worries racing through his mind. What if Jayla lost her ability to compete? How would she handle it? What would happen when America no longer saw her as the strong, talented, smart, beautiful woman he knew she would always be, regardless of if she was a competitive skier or not, and started to see her as a washed-up Olympic champion going through an identity crisis? Because life as she knew it would change if she couldn’t compete. And that scared the hell out of him, which meant it probably petrified her.
Which is exactly why you’re keeping your injury from me.
Chapter Seven
THEY WERE HALFWAY through the third class of the day when Jayla noticed Coach Cunningham standing by the lift watching her. She ran through her motions for the past ten minutes and couldn’t remember flinching or rubbing her shoulder. No, she was sure she hadn’t, despite the intermittent twinges of pain. She’d been so focused on the kids that she’d been able to almost ignore the ache. She tried to distract herself from the coach’s scrutiny and cast her eyes away from where he stood, catching a glimpse of Rush talking to Suzie Baker’s mother. Not exactly the distraction I’d been hoping for. Kelly Baker had been vying for his attention all morning with stupid questions that could have waited until the class was over.
Rush glanced over and rolled his eyes. Even though it stung knowing that he’d probably take the woman’s phone number, she loved that she and Rush could make light of the way women chased him. The sharing of those intimacies that were usually reserved for same-gender friends reiterated their trust in each other. She loved that they didn’t hide things from each other, or pretend they were something they weren’t. Except my injury, but that’s different. She took a second to convince herself of that and then pushed it aside and went back to the scene between Rush and the blonde unfolding before her. Soon he’d lean on his ski pole with a seductive look in his eyes and turn back to the class, but not before lingering on the blonde’s eyes just long enough that the woman’s pulse would kick up—and Jayla’s heart would ache.
Why do I do this to myself?
She couldn’t help but watch a minute longer. Rush’s eyes now darted away from the blonde, like he was looking for an escape. Jayla’s pulse kicked up at the thought, though she was sure it was just him playing hard to get or some other type of ploy.
He walked away and didn’t look back. In fact, Ms. Baker was staring after him with an angry look on her face. Rush locked eyes with Jayla and gave a curt nod before flashing the crooked smile that knocked her world off center.
At the end of class, they headed back into the lodge to warm up. Built of cedar and stone, with a round stone fireplace in the center of the room, the lodge had high ceilings, two full walls of windows, a full bar, and a host of tables in various sizes. It felt cozy despite its large size. Jayla grabbed a table while Rush ordered their food. He came back with two steaming bowls of soup, baguettes, and bottled water.
“Thanks.” She pulled off her gloves and set them on the empty chair beside her as Rush took his coat off.
“What’d you think of the classes?” He took off his hat, and his short hair tousled into a sexy state of bedhead.
Jayla reached across the table and patted his hair into submission.
“That bad, huh?”
“Someone has to make you presentable or those MILFs won’t be after you anymore.” She ate her soup, trying to ignore the nagging twinge of jealousy.
“You know I have no interest.” He leaned back and stretched his arms over his head.
Jayla couldn’t help but notice how his biceps strained the sleeves of his shirt. Unfortunately, neither could about ten other women in the restaurant.
“Until after next week,” she challenged.
“I don’t think so.” He held her gaze.
His response caught her off guard. What was this new restraint all about?
“All of a sudden you’re picky about your conquests?” She looked around at a woman who was still staring at Rush and sighed.
“Maybe I’m done seeking conquests.”
Right. And maybe I’m not holding on to my career by a very thin thread.
“You up to the trail that wraps around the mountain?” Rush ate his soup with his eyes trained on her, even with the other woman practically salivating over him at the next table.
This focus on her was new, and it made her a little nervous. “I think I’ll wait for our team practice.” She dropped her eyes to escape his narrowing gaze. “Thanks for coming over last night.”
He nodded. “It was fun. Besides, I love to listen to you snore. Wanna hit the gym?”
“I don’t snore. You already went to the gym this morning. I saw you when you went back to your cabin.”
“You snore like a chain saw, but it’s kinda cute.” He crossed his arms, and his eyes shifted to her shoulder.
She dropped her spoon into her soup with a clank! “What?”
Rush shrugged. “No skiing? No gym? You tell me.” He picked up his empty bowl and walked it over to the trash.
Apparently, you already know.
“I’m going to head out to the slopes.”
“Rush.” Why do you always make me face everything? “Sit.”
<
br /> He did, right beside her.
“It’s not what you think.” It’s worse.
“Tell me what I think, Jayla, because I can only think of one reason you’d ever keep a secret from me.” He crossed his arms and pinned her to her seat with a dark stare.
“Oh, please. I have lots of secrets.” One. One secret. My injury. Does that count? And my crazy crush on you. Okay, two secrets. That’s considered lots in my book.
His crooked smile nearly slayed her right there in the lodge. She imagined herself sliding bonelessly from her seat to the floor and the EMTs hovering above her. It’s that damn crooked smile. It does it every time.
“Okay, maybe I don’t, but damn it, don’t assume you know everything about me, because you don’t.”
“Maybe you’re right. But I do know that my friend Jayla, the one I know hates when guys call her Jay-Jay and who loves flannel sleeping pants more than lingerie, wouldn’t keep something as big, or as little, as an injury from me. So either the therapy band I saw was a precaution, or you’re an imposter.”
“Pfft.” She tossed her napkin on the table. “It’s nothing.”
“Is that your opinion or the doc’s?”
She rolled her eyes and looked away.
Rush moved closer to her, and she turned the other way. Other than her crush—which she could only hope she’d been successful at hiding from him—she’d never been very good at keeping secrets from him, and right then, she hated him for it. A bolt of worry seared through her. What if he’s known how I feel about him all along and he’s just pretended not to notice? Oh God. Please just kill me now. She fought against the thought. No way could he have ignored that and still remained as close to her as he had.
“Even when you look away, I see you worrying,” he said quietly.
“I’m not worrying. I’m annoyed that you’re pushing me so hard over nothing.” I can handle this.
“Well, can I judge nothing for myself?” He ran his hand through his hair. “Did you tell Marcus what this nothing is?”
Slope of Love (Love in Bloom: The Remingtons) Page 5